Wednesday: Poetry, scheduling, dreams
Apr. 9th, 2003 10:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetPossibly some of you have seen this already, but it was new to me:
The Poetry of D.H. Rumsfeld.
My brother called last night to arrange a visit here in June, and now we must rearrange it because I overlooked a scheduling detail. How vexing.
Just called my mother to relay that info to him, and started to get into a minor argument about Current Events. But it was one of those things where we both (I think) could tell it might turn into a bigger argument without any hope of convincing one another, so we switched instead to talking about Cute Things Toddlers Do.
Today's goals include reading Tacitus' Agricola, planning for a D&D game (an unusually busy social weekend ahead: actually going clubbing for once on Friday, and then game-geekery Saturday and Sunday), and working at the Athenaeum.
It's too bad the Polish food store on Essex Street closes when it does; J. wants to go there and buy things and make dinner from them because she's been reading a political anthropology book about Poland, and I'm all for that plan, but our schedules do not permit it today. (A Hungarian ethnography recently led to paprikash, and her re-reading after many years of Rice As Self would have resulted in Japanese food had the requisite materials been at hand.)
1. I'm in the amusement park (which includes such thrills as a book display, not that there's anything wrong with that), a bit distressed by the fact that most of the exhibits and rides must be reached by tall ladders. Eventually, though, the time comes where I must find the bad guys, so I turn invisible, project an air bubble around myself, and fly (self-powered, so what was up with worrying about ladders?) out of the park, out of the enclosed city, and across the lunar landscape, looking for trouble.
2. My sister and I are getting ready for what appears to be New Wave Mafia Night at the club. Then, somehow, I learn that she has been Wronged by a Roman nobleman and make plans for future vengeance. Returning home (from the goth club or from vengeance, I couldn't say) we note that the door to the women's quarters (?) in the basement has been unlocked. I pick up a footstool for a weapon, decide it's too light, and then get a heavier one, and descend into the unlit basement, in that notorious dream state of weakness and preternatural slowness, looking for trouble.
The Poetry of D.H. Rumsfeld.
My brother called last night to arrange a visit here in June, and now we must rearrange it because I overlooked a scheduling detail. How vexing.
Just called my mother to relay that info to him, and started to get into a minor argument about Current Events. But it was one of those things where we both (I think) could tell it might turn into a bigger argument without any hope of convincing one another, so we switched instead to talking about Cute Things Toddlers Do.
Today's goals include reading Tacitus' Agricola, planning for a D&D game (an unusually busy social weekend ahead: actually going clubbing for once on Friday, and then game-geekery Saturday and Sunday), and working at the Athenaeum.
It's too bad the Polish food store on Essex Street closes when it does; J. wants to go there and buy things and make dinner from them because she's been reading a political anthropology book about Poland, and I'm all for that plan, but our schedules do not permit it today. (A Hungarian ethnography recently led to paprikash, and her re-reading after many years of Rice As Self would have resulted in Japanese food had the requisite materials been at hand.)
1. I'm in the amusement park (which includes such thrills as a book display, not that there's anything wrong with that), a bit distressed by the fact that most of the exhibits and rides must be reached by tall ladders. Eventually, though, the time comes where I must find the bad guys, so I turn invisible, project an air bubble around myself, and fly (self-powered, so what was up with worrying about ladders?) out of the park, out of the enclosed city, and across the lunar landscape, looking for trouble.
2. My sister and I are getting ready for what appears to be New Wave Mafia Night at the club. Then, somehow, I learn that she has been Wronged by a Roman nobleman and make plans for future vengeance. Returning home (from the goth club or from vengeance, I couldn't say) we note that the door to the women's quarters (?) in the basement has been unlocked. I pick up a footstool for a weapon, decide it's too light, and then get a heavier one, and descend into the unlit basement, in that notorious dream state of weakness and preternatural slowness, looking for trouble.
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no subject
Date: 2003-04-09 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-09 10:23 pm (UTC)Unlike my subject-verb agreement.
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Date: 2003-04-10 07:55 am (UTC)I agree as to the pierogies. I don't think we've tried the blood sausage(s) yet, but their garlic kielbasa is a tasty treat.